


Love in Abstract

by UglyWettieWrites



Category: David Tennant - Fandom
Genre: Art, Ass Play, David playing trans is surprising tempting, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Open your mind, Other, POV Lesbian Character, Romance, Strap-Ons, Trans Female Character, art sex, lingerie fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9190094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UglyWettieWrites/pseuds/UglyWettieWrites
Summary: Based on the character ‘Davina’ from Rab C Nesbitt.Davina, the unlikely barmaid, meets with destiny on a blustery Glasgow afternoon.





	

_Goddamned Glaswegians._

I slammed into the bar with a dripping scowl.

“Don’t damn us all, darling. Some of us still have hope for salvation,” she said as she poured a scruffy man some whiskey.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I said, and sat down close to the heater and shook my umbrella. “I’ve had an exceedingly shitty day thus far. You can’t begin to imagine.”

“You’re American.” She walked over and leaned on the bar. As my eyes adjusted to the light, my jaw dropped. She noticed and pulled back, thinking me shocked. I was dazzled.

“Very American, and very confused. It seems like just about everything I do, I’m insulting or irritating someone,” I said. She put her hands on the bar. She had long slim fingers, tipped with gold nails.

“Don’t you fret. How long have you been here?” Her voice was soft but discernible through the bar noise.

“Around four months. I work at the art gallery 12 blocks north of here.”

“Really? Sounds exciting. Odd you’d end up here, though. I love art. What would you like to drink, love?”

“Bourbon. Double, please.”

She poured. “I wanted to be an artist once. I did mostly vaguely sexual abstracts on canvas, but I lost touch. Silly.”

“Why silly?”

“Dunno.” Someone called for another pint. I watched her walk away. She was tall and slim, but her wiggle warmed me. The man she served flirted openly with her. She flipped her beautiful wavy hair and laughed at his jokes, then came back.

“I think he likes you,” I said, tracing a water ring on the bar.

“He’s here all the time. He’s nice, but he can’t take a hint to save his life,” she said. She wiped down a cup and I saw a ring on her important finger.

“You’re taken, then? Some men are selectively blind.” She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume, a rich, resinous scent. “You smell amazing.”

“Thank you.” She blushed.

I took off my jacket. My still damp silk shell stuck to my breasts. My bra was visible under it, but gladly, the bar was dark. “Please don’t think me creepy. I’m a bit of a fume head. I love smelling beautiful things.”

“Do you now?,” she said, warming up to me. “Anyway, about that gentleman on the end of the bar. I’ve told him on many occasions that I am very gay, but he won’t have any of it. It’s getting annoying.”

My slow smile gave me away. “And the ring?”

“I wear it as protection. So they’ll leave me alone. It doesn’t always work, though.” Her breath smelled of peppermint candy. “How about yours?” she said. She grabbed my left ring finger and wiggled it. Her brown eyes shone.

“Oh, this old thing? I promised myself a diamond ring if I could get through my MFA, and I did. I’m damn proud of it, too.”

We gave each other a meaningful look. I waved the glass and she refilled, bending over just so I could catch a glimpse of cleavage. It gave me strength.

“What’s your name?”

“Davina.”

“My name is Rosa.” I shot the whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter. She giggled. “I know, I know. I don’t drink delicately, especially when stressed.”

“Don’t you worry yourself. You’re still quite fetching, despite being a little waterlogged,” she said, tugging at a wet tendril at my temple.

“How do you get used to so much rain?” I asked, reluctantly picking up my umbrella. I had to get back to work.

“Years and years of practice, “she said. I put a large bill on the bar and stood up. She made change and handed it to me, but I shook my head. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, Rosa. See you sometime, hopefully,” she said. She leaned on the register and watched me walk out…and then back in. I nearly bumped into her at the door.

“Davina.” I smoothed my damp jacket over my hips.

“Yes?”

“You work at a bar, so it would be silly to ask if you’d like to, maybe, have a drink sometime. We could have coffee instead. Or tea. Maybe dinner. Anything you like.”

She looked me up and down. My knees shivered from nerves, and the cold.

“You know, I was about to chase you down to ask you the same thing,” she said, smiling. She wore a pair of improbable suede heels that made her so tall I had to look up at her in that narrow entrance.

“Really?” I said.

“Oh yes,” she said. She bit her painted lower lip. “I’d love to go out for a coffee after work.”

“Amazing,” I said. “When shall I pick you up?”

“I get off at four, but if you want to wait a bit, till after nightfall…”

“Nonsense. I’ll be here at four sharp.” I said.

“Four,” she repeated. We looked at each other until a drunk broke through us and into the street.

Most of the afternoon was a blur because of the whiskey and my excitement. The thought of seeing her made the impossible artist’s demands for her show nearly bearable. I hadn’t met anyone as beautiful as her since arriving at Glasgow, and I she made my head spin with possibilities. 

* * *

She waited for me in front of the bar, holding a large clear plastic umbrella. I waved her into my Volvo. She filled the cabin with the smell of spring.

“You look amazing,” she said as she closed the door. I had changed into something dry and sexy before picking her up. The tips of her hair dripped with rain. Her long legs nearly hit the glove box.

“Thank you. Here, let me help you with that.” I reached over her to adjust her seat and accidentally touched her calf. We both sighed.

“Ooh, those are silk,” I said as I pulled into traffic.

“Yes. A guilty pleasure of mine,” she said, rubbing her thighs together. The soft swish swish sound made saliva pool in my mouth – I loved lingerie. Passionately.

I drove to a coffee house a gallery employee recommended. It was one of those forcefully modern places that hired only aesthetically pleasing, young edgy humans. We were seated by a girl with dyed black hair and a nose piercing. She couldn’t stop staring at her. She asked for my order, quickly scribbled it, and turned to Davina.

“Uhm, and, uh, what would you like…sir?”

“Miss. I’ll have a cappuccino, wet, with an extra shot, please,” she said with undeserved patience.

The girl giggled and walked, then ran to the counter. She whispered and pointed to her, then her and the barista laughed. Anger began to rise up my neck. She noticed and squeezed my hand.

“Don’t worry. I’m used to it.” She smiled, but her kindness only made me feel worse.

The barista came back with our drink, openly eyeballing her. “Anything else…er…miss?” He snorted.

“How about some manners, for a start?” I said.

 _Whatever_ , he said softly, and rolled his eyes. My jaw dropped. I still couldn’t get used to how rude some people were.

“You know what, that’s precisely what I’m thinking. Whatever. About your shitty attitude, and this place. I’ll have to tell my people up at Emotion all about it.”

Davina sat opposite me, legs clenched together and hands clasped on her lap. I took a breath for her sake.

“But.. the gallery’s at least half of our business,” the barista said, cowed.

“You should think about those things before being such an insufferable twat to paying customers, which, by the way, I am not,” I said, and stood up. “Davina, we’re leaving.”

She stood up slowly, then followed me out. By force of habit, I opened the car door for her, then ran around and got in, fuming.

“We didn’t have to go. They were just kids being kids.” She patted my hand, then squeezed when she felt me trembling.

“I feel at fault, since I brought you here.” We sat together and watched the people walking by on the sidewalk.

“I can take care of myself. I work at a downtown bar, remember?”

“Looks can be deceiving,” I said.

“How so?” Her brow furrowed.

“You look like such a girly girl. Not the type to tell someone to bugger off, full stop. I’m sorry for assuming. Of course you can take care of yourself.”

“Ah, well…” she tipped her head and shrugged. “A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do sometimes,” she said. “Including telling a touchy bloke to feck off and giving him a cuff on the ear.”

We laughed together, the tension broken.

“I’ve never been accused of it,” I said.

“Of what?”

“Being a girly girl. My friends make fun of me all the time. Tell me I have a man brain,” I said, shrugging.

“What does that even mean, man brain?” she said, squinting.

“I don’t know, honestly. Maybe you could tell me, if we become friends,” I said.

“Friends, huh? You want to be my friend?” Her gaze was steady and warm.

“Friendship can be the basis for many things,” I said. “Shall we try somewhere less awful?”

“Still coffee?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“My flat is just a couple blocks away. I have a french press.”

I bit my lip. “Okay.”

“Maybe I can feed you, too,” she said, looking out the passenger’s side window.

* * *

 “This is me,” she said, letting me walk past her and inside. It was a small flat, just a sitting room connected to a small kitchen. I saw her bedroom just beyond, though her bed was blocked by a lacquered coromandel draped with a silk robe.

She started preparing the coffee and talking, but I couldn’t hear a thing. I removed the robe from the screen and touched it reverently.

 _Jesus_. It has to be a hundred years old. Minimum. Despite tiny chips and dents on the surface, it shone with the deep crimson and gold of layer upon layer of careful lacquering. On the front, a scene of peasants punting down a misty mountain river. On the back, gold leaf bamboo. I traced the brush marks, smiling to myself.

Her hand on my shoulder made me jump. “Good things come to those who wait,” she said. I stood in her bedroom, clutching her robe. She gave me a crooked grin.

“Davina, this is not a knockoff.”

“Of course not,” she said, handing me a steaming cup. Its surface swirled with cream. “It's a gift from my grandmum.”

She took the robe from my hand and threw it. “Care to sit down?” She sat on the foot of the bed. I took a searing sip in my nervousness. We faced the screen. “My great granddad brought it from Europe as a wedding gift to my great grandmum. She gave it to my nan. And my nan gave it to me.”

“It’s so beautiful,“ I said, but I was looking at her. She crossed her legs and took a sip of coffee.

“Needless to say, my mum isn’t happy about it.”

“Ah.” I crossed my legs towards her. Our heeled feet touched. “Is your nan still alive?”

“Sadly, no.” she said. Her cup clicked on the saucer. Her nails gleamed the same gold as the screen.

“My parents were very busy people, so my abuela raised me. She was a very religious women, so when I realized I’m gay, I was terrified to tell her. I didn’t date in high school, and went away to college – university - and only then did I have the courage to write her that I had fallen in love…with a woman. Can you guess what she told me?”

“Tell me.”

I chuckled. “She said she knew since I was in middle school. That she’d done her research, and maybe it was hereditary – one of her brothers was gay. She told me she loved me and to not be afraid to come home when I was ready.”

“And what of your mum and dad?”

“They were horrified. When I came out to them, my mum spent six hours questioning me about what she did wrong. My dad was stone silent and bug eyed. It was one of the most humiliating, painful moments of my life.”

“Were they religious, like your nan?” she asked, putting her cup down on the bedside table and leaning back.

“No, not nearly. Therein lies the irony.”

“Can I ask you something?” she said. She took her heels off. I caught another glimpse of tender cleavage.

“Of course.”

“What was your reaction, when you first saw me?”

Blood rushed to my face. “I’m sorry I was so slack-jawed. I’m sure you get that all the time, though.”

“Yes, in varying degrees for various reasons. Mainly because I’m over 2m tall in heels.”

“What are you really asking me, Davina?”

She took a deep breath. “If you haven’t already noticed, I’m, um..I wasn’t born a-“

I put my finger over her lips. “Shh. Don’t put yourself out like that on my behalf. This coffee’s delicious, by the way. Best I’ve had in Glasgow.”

Her cheeks were pink, and sweat beaded her brow.

“I went to grad school in the west coast of America, near a city called San Francisco. Lots of gays there. Loads.” I slipped off my shoes. She took my foot and rubbed it, strong thumbs pressing into my aching arches. I moaned softly.

She looked at me through long lashes. “Go on.”

“So, I’ve met all sorts of humanity. Things simply don’t end at female/male. Neither does love.”

“Yeah?” She pulled my other foot in her lap. I felt myself swelling and becoming slick.

“Yes. I fell in love with a man, who, to put it bluntly, was not born biologically male. But he’s a man, believe you me.”

“So you’re bi, then?”

“Yes. more queer than full on lesbian, I guess. Does that bother you?” I hoped against hope it didn’t. I didn’t want her to stop touching me.

“Not at all. I guess I fall into the same category, after a fashion. I’ve been with other women like me, and biological women, like you.”

”You’ve never been interested in being with a man?”

She rubbed up my ankles and underneath my jeans. It felt delicious.

“When I was younger, I thought I did for a bit…you know, when I first discovered myself. But no. I tried it and it just wasn’t for me. I love another woman’s soft curves. Their convex and concave bits.” Her hand traveled up my leg, past my hip to my waist over my jeans. My lips tingled to kiss her. My nipples were visible through the blouse. When her eyes grazed them, I sighed. She took the cup from my hand.

“I know you’re dying to ask me,” she said, leaning into me. Her fragrant, wavy hair fell over and around our faces. She wrapped her arm around my waist and pulled me near. Her breasts pressed against mine. I touched her long neck, then caressed her face. Her skin was smooth and silky.

“Ask you what? I honestly can’t think straight.”

She guided my hand up her leg, underneath her skirt. I caressed past the lace tops of her stockings to hot, taut thigh. I stopped before reaching between her legs. Her peppermint chocolate breath was warm on my face.

“Kiss me.” I pulled her to me.

She rubbed her lips against mine, then licked my lower lip. I moaned and licked her back. She put her hand on my belly.

“Can I touch you?” she said.

“Yes,” I said, moving her hand between my legs. The heat of my pussy made her pupils dilate. Her lips, still wet with my saliva, parted in a wicked grin. She slid off the bed and in front of me and unbuttoned my jeans. She kissed the growing v of lower belly as she unzipped. I arched and spread my legs.

“Patience, Rosa,” she said, closing my legs to pull off my jeans. She licked her lips and ran a finger along the elastic of my pink lace panties. “So pretty,” she said, hooking the finger to tug them into my swollen folds. “Pity they’re ruined. Soaked through.” She whimpered playfully and caressed my exposed lips with her knuckle. She pulled off my blouse. “Matching bra. I feel special.” She looked down at me with undisguised hunger. “It’s been so long.”

I reached out to her, grabbing a handful of blouse to pull her near. I kissed her, my hands moving down the front of her blouse, unbuttoning. I slid a hand into her bra and moaned. Her breasts were small but firm, and her nipple was hard with arousal. She shivered when I tugged it gently and slid her tongue in my mouth. I struggled to unzip her skirt.

“You taste like peppermint,” I said between kisses. I ran my thumb along her cheekbone. Her lashes were so long they tickled my forehead as she kissed my cheek. “It’s been so long since what?”

She sat back and took off her bra more gracefully than I ever did, never breaking eye contact. Her shoulders were sprinkled with camel colored freckles I longed to taste.  A silver necklace with a pendant fell between her breasts. I kissed the little red indentations the bra left on her ribcage, cupping her breasts and squeezing. I straddled her, pulling her skirt over her hips and off. Her black panties were stretched taut over her arousal, but I dared not touch her without permission. I licked her nipple, sucked gently and swirled my tongue over the hard pink bud. She raised her arms over her head and arched, and her swollen flesh touched mine. I gasped and arched on top of her. She put her hands on my hips and guided me to grind on her. She licked her lower lip as I moved over her.

“Since I’ve tasted a woman,” she said as she unhooked my bra. She squeezed my breasts, moaning as my generous flesh spilled from between her fingers. She sat up and took a nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue like I’d swirled mine. I bucked in her lap, tangling my fingers in her long hair. She started gentle but soon her teeth grazed me, then bit. I let out a groan. She reached inside my panties and ran her finger along my slippery slit, lingering over my clit but not truly touching. Just that left her palm wet. She inspected her glossy fingers. Her nostrils trembled with the scent of me.

“You’ve got a serious wettie,” she said, and sucked her fingers.

“Wettie?”

“Advanced state of female arousal,” she said, then reached in my panties again and  rubbed my clit. My eyes rolled closed. She pressed her lips to my ear. “Does it ache?” The circles widened, getting closer to my opening. I fluttered against her fingertips.

“Yes.”

She licked my earlobe, then kissed behind my ear. Her finger nudged at my opening as her thumb flicked my clit. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“God yes.” I was trembling.

She positioned me on my elbows and knees on the bed and crawled behind me. She squeezed my ass again, then pulled down my panties and threw them over her head.

“Look at you, love. All swollen and pink.” She spread me open and I dripped a crystal thread of wetness on her pretty flowered sheets. She clicked her tongue and pressed her hot mouth on the inside of my thigh. Her tongue swirled to clean the wetness off then kissed soft kisses all around me until I wanted to scream. Her nose nudged my slit, then she lay back with her head between my legs. “What a sight,” she said, caressing up my thighs. “Darling, can I ask you to do something for me?

“Anything.” Except to stop.

“Could you…tease me a little? Dance it near my face, get close but don’t let me taste you until I beg?”

My eyebrow rose. “I’ll drip all over you.”

“Do you promise?” Her voice cracked. I giggled.

I sat on her chest and traced the pussyslick bridge of her nose. “You’re full of surprises,” I said.

“Just you wait,” she said. I placed my hand on the top of her head and gyrated my hips just inches over her face, spreading myself to show her my glossy rose. She moaned and her grip on my thighs tightened.

I pinched my clit between my fingers and sighed. “I’m so swollen,” I said as I slid two fingers inside myself and stretched myself open. Her panting breath tickled. I got near enough the tip of her nose grazed me, then rose beyond the reach of her tongue again. She whimpered. I fanned myself close to her face and began to fingerfuck myself, a slow in and out that made my fingers drip.

“That feels so good,” I said, watching her intently, but her eyes were on my cunt. She looked about to weep.

“Yeah?” She licked the last of the paint off her lips.

“Mmmhmmm,” I said, tugging at my hard clit. It touched her nose. She lunged forward tongue first, but I was too quick. My bud was swollen enough so I could jack myself off between two fingers and I did it, smiling when her lip quivered. Her hands moved to my hips, but her touch was light. She wasn’t desperate yet.

I finally dripped on her chin. She carefully gathered it with her finger and sucked it off.

“So…good,” she said. I dripped on her lips as I spread so she saw my openings. My cunt winked at her. She gasped and licked her lips.

“But it gets cold so fast,” I said. “Don’t you want me, hot against your tongue?”

“Yes.” She squeezed my hips, but I didn’t move any closer.

I slid three fingers inside myself and sighed. “Mmm, look how wet I am. I’m so ready.” I moved my hips, fucking myself just inches from her open mouth.

Her groans were gaining some bass. I fingerfucked right into my g-spot and bucked over her face, dripping onto her cheeks. I wasn’t teasing anymore - I was close to coming. I put my hand against her headboard and leaned forward for leverage. My hips moved fast and hard enough to make my ass jiggle.

“Fucking hell,” she said. “Don’t come yet.”

My hips moved faster. “Why?” I asked. I flicked my wetness in her face.

“I want it in my mouth.” She bit my thigh softly and made me lose my rhythm. “I wanna feel you twitching on my tongue.”

“Oh yeah? But not enough to-“

“Please don’t come yet. _Please_.” 

I withdrew my fingers and shoved them in her panting mouth. She sucked them, running her tongue between them to get every last drop before pressing her mouth to me. We groaned at the same time as she slid her tongue into me as deep as it would go and began to fuck me with it, moaning gutturally into my flesh. I sat straight up with the sensation. She slid two long fingers into me and sucked my clit until I throbbed, her tongue licking and gathering my wetness as she curled them into my sweet spot and milked me.

I grabbed her headboard. She whispered sweet nothings into my pussy, soft things I couldn’t understand but felt all the same. Right as the first twitch made my belly muscles tighten, she stopped.

“No….” I was hoarse from panting.

She licked her glistening lips as she moved out from under me. She looked like a maenad, tangled hair and red cheeks and burning eyes. My lower lip trembled, but she lay back and guided me between her legs.

“You tease,” I said, kissing her pale neck. I wanted to suck, to bite, to mark it.

“Go ahead,” she said, reading my mind. I licked, then bit, moaning into her neck as the pain made her arch. She rubbed against my belly, streaking it with wetness. I moved down her body and stood at the edge of the bed, grabbing her ankles and placing them over my shoulders.

“You’ve got legs for days,” I said. She started to roll down her stockings, but I lightly slapped her hand. “No. They stay on.”

She put her arms behind her head. Her nipples were perky little rose buttons. I licked my lips, but resisted the urge to suck. I massaged up her leg, sighing at the feel of the stockings against my breasts.

“You like it, don’t you? Silk and satin and lacy things, but not only on you.” She caressed my breast gently with her stockinged foot, then pinched my nipple between her toes. I nodded and kissed up her thighs, biting at the lace tops and tugging until they snapped back on her skin.

She hissed and licked her lips. “I have a lot of really nice things. Pretty things. Naughty things I could share with you...” She caressed, then tugged on my shoulders until my face hovered between her legs. She hooked her fingers on both sides of her panties and ran them to her center. Throbbing purple peeked up from under them. I looked at her, and her eyes were soft, importunate. She held her breath. She wanted me to touch.

I licked the slick head of her and she shivered, hard, and pressed her fingers on my temples. I squeezed her over her panties, tracing her thickness with my lips. She smelled of perfume, pussy, and her own brand of wetness that made me curious to suck. She spread her legs and lifted her knees high, looking down at me. She bit her thumbnail, her swollen lips parted to expose her canines.

I stopped and stared.

She traced a line down the center of my forehead down my nose. “What?”

“You’re so beautiful. It physically aches.” The look in her eyes saddened. I caressed her flat belly, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never met a woman like you,” she said. She actually hiccuped.

“Oh no,” I said, laying beside her and taking her into my arms. She sniffled and let me hold her. I wrapped my legs around her and kissed all over her face – her wet lashes, her tear hot cheeks, her bitten lips. I cupped her chin in my hands and chased her gaze until she finally looked me in the eye. “What are you thinking?”

She hiccuped again. “I’m sorry. You must be frustrated. It doesn’t matter,” she said, and slid her hand between my legs. Although her touch made me gasp, and took her hand and kissed it.

“Tell me. I want to know.” I took her robe, the one she’d thrown on the floor, and tenderly put it over her. I sat up and linked my fingers in hers.

“I’m not usually so front foot about things,” she said. “To be honest, this has never happened before. Not this quick.”

“Ohhh.” I put her hand on her chest.”Would you like me to go? I’ll go.” The thought made me want to scream, but for her, I would, without another word.

“No no no, not at all,” she said, taking my hand back and pulling me to her. “It’s just that…you’re so blasé about it. I can’t quite process it.”

“About what?” I traced the line of her jaw.

She rose to kneeling on the bed. “Oh come on, _look at me_. She looked suddenly distressed.

What Davina did not know is that I’d known and loved another woman just like her – we had not been lovers, but she was my best friend back in the States. I had lain cheek by jowl with her despair, dealt with her bouts of confusion and frustration.

“We are still mostly strangers, so you can say what you actually want to say to me without fear, Davina. Speak.”

Her fat lower lip quivered. She pulled the robe on, stepped out of bed and started pacing. “You walk into the pub and look at me the way you do, _really_ look and your eyes - you’re not curious or appalled or frightened or amused you just smile that smile at me and talk to me without a thought, just have a civilized conversation about men and rings and drink all in broad daylight - Jaysus you’re beautiful - and then come back. You come all the way back soaked to the bone to ask me out for coffee or dinner _if I please_. Ha! I must be so easy for you in America, walking around all gay and blasé but trust it’s not like that here. Nope. Not in this country.” She stopped walking to look at me, panting lightly. Her behavior did not frighten me, or put me off. I remained silent.

She pulled her panties down and threw them at me. “My father put me out at 19 when he found out about me. Not from the house, darling, from the will. I went from comfortably wealthy to destitute in a slash of his pen. And my mum, who knew about me, didn’t say a word in the defense of her only son.”

I sat up and pulled her blouse over me.

“I was born David Alvin Vincent Nathan McAllister but became Davina Eugenia, after my nan, who died shortly after she found out about the whole thing. Not about me - she knew about me - but about what my mother had done. She left everything to me, but my father found a loophole to freeze her assets indefinitely. If I could afford a lawyer, the procedure to get my inheritance might be easy, but lo and behold, I’m fecking broke.”

“That’s a public school name if I’ve ever heard one,” I said. “Explains the facesitting.”

She turned to me, at first angry, but then she let out a giggle that turned to a full-throated laugh. She crawled into bed and lay her head on my lap.

“I love your hair,” I said, curling a tendril around my finger.

“I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me in for a kiss.

“I accept, as long as you can accept my apologies for being so insensitive,” I said.

“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, squeezing my waist.

“I did, a little. I didn’t take the time to acknowledge you, make you feel at ease with this. Since you’ve already shared so much, can I ask you something? Have you really been with other women?”

“I had a girlfriend, before I came out. I loved her. We’d been together since we were 12, but just as soon as I confessed, she left me. She was disgusted. I felt horrible.”

I squeezed her. “And after that?”

“Women like me. But it’s difficult trying to have a normal relationship with someone so like myself. It feels more like sisterhood that passion. To me, at least.”

“Ha! You are a lesbian,” I said. “Dyed in the wool, regardless of what the jackbooted feminists say – you know, that ones that say lesbians who use strap ons are committing violence against each other, since they insist on bringing dong into the equation, and all heteronormative sex is rape.”

“What?” she said, sitting up. She wrinkled her nose.

“Oh yeah. All sorts of drama amongst the dykes in America. And although attitudes are changing, there is still a lot of hostility towards trans women in the lesbian community...so, don’t be jealous.”

“No, not about that. That shit never changes. What was that about dong and rape?”

“So you haven’t heard it?”

She shook her head energetically.

“Some lesbian feminists look down on women using penetrative toys to pleasure each other, since they are, in essence, replacing the cock in heteronormative sex. And some of these women believe that all cock and pussy sex is violence - even if the woman consents, or even initiates.”

She whistled softly. “That’s not fun.”

“Different strokes for different folks, but I do whatever the fuck I want. I’ve been an ‘if you got it, use it’ type since I was a kid. I started masturbating at 7 years old.” I shrugged. “Pleasure is pleasurable, and I refuse to allow politics in my bedroom. It dries me right up.”

“I agree,” she said, tugging on the blanket until my breasts were exposed. “I want to use it.”

“I want you to do me a favor,” I said.

“Anything.”

“I think you’re devastatingly beautiful. I want to be with you. Can you accept that?”

“Devastating, you say?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Beautiful?”

“Gorgeous. Come, feel my heart,” I said, straddling her and putting her hand on my chest.

“Oh, it’s beating _that_ fast. I’m chuffed,” she said, tickling my side with her other hand. We play wrestled for a breathless minute, rolling around on her bed and giggling like girls. She was strong, but I pinned her with my thighs and held her hands above her head. We were chest to chest, our lips almost touching. I felt her rise against my belly. I shifted my hips until my lips parted against her. I bit back a moan.

“Rosa? I want you,” she said. She rolled her hips into me.

“You want inside me?”

She nodded. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, but first…” I moved down her body, taking a pillow from beside her. “I didn’t get to finish what I started. Knees up, darling.” She obeyed, tantalizingly slow. I put the pillow underneath her ass and fluffed it. She was completely smooth and swollen. Her asshole winked at me, glossy with our shared wetness. I licked my lips. Her belly muscles twitched with anticipation.

I started with barely there kisses up the silky skin of her shaft that ended with a swirl at the tip, then I held her and licked, and licked, and swirled and licked until her thighs trembled on my shoulders.

“Keep those knees high, beautiful,” I said. My tongue moved down to her crack, but she moved so my mouth landed the silky mounds of flesh beneath her shaft.

“You can kiss me anywhere, if you like. I’m very proud of my spare parts,” she said.

“Are you?” I said. The look on my face made her beam.

“Very,” she said, biting her lower lip.

“My mouth is at your command, mistress,” I said, bowing again. “Tell me where you want it.”

She spread and palmed herself. “Suck. Here.”

I licked her, long and slow, then sucked them into my mouth. Her flesh was hairless and tender. She groaned above me, and her painted toes curled.

“Where else?” I kissed the inside of her thighs, biting at the lace tops again. God, I loved stockings.

“Come back here,” she said. She stroked and offered herself to me. I kissed it, but she gently guided my head forward until she was fully in my mouth. She was more than a mouthful, fully formed and eager. I gripped her thighs and bobbed my head into her as my tongue swirled on the tip.

She squeezed my shoulder. “Wrap your hand around me -”  I gripped the base of her and swirled both fist and tongue until her nails dug into me. “Like that. Exactly.” She dragged the last word into a moan that vibrated in my cunt.

I wanted her inside me, but I wasn’t done. I kept stroking her and moved down to her asshole. I french kissed her there, groaning at her salt and musk. I worked saliva deep into her, then slid my middle finger in and curled it until she bucked.

I sat up. I wanted to see her face, observe every inch of her body. I stroked her tight and slow and worked her p-spot. She was slick with my saliva and deliciously tight. I throbbed and seeped to the sheets. She plucked at her swollen nipples and licked her lips.

“I want more,” she said. I slid another finger in her. She hissed then swallowed it, arching. Her heat made me salivate. I pushed my fingers deeper inside her, leaning forward to gauge her reaction. Her eyes got glassy with sensation.

“I wish…” she said, squeezing my nipple, “that you would fuck me. There.” She tightened around my fingers. That is all I needed to hear. I withdrew and bounced off the bed.

“What you doing?”

I dug in my bag, took out a box and straps. She chuckled behind me as I stepped into it and positioned the strap on so it would nudge me exactly where I needed it to with each thrust.

“You brought that?”

I crawled to bed with a bottle of lube in my hand. “Of course. How can I work without my toolbox?”

She eyed the glossy purple dong with unconcealed curiosity. I slathered lube on her and bit a condom pack open, smoothing it on.

She tugged on it, and I gasped. “You can feel that?” She wrapped her fingers around it, began to jerk it. I opened my legs and nodded.

“Do you like it?” I said, taking her hand and kissing it.

“I’ve never...had someone use one of those on me before.” She tweaked the tip. I bucked.

“If you don’t feel comfortable-”

“I want you to,” she said, laying back and spreading for me. “It’s big. And don’t be shy. I like it when it aches a bit,” she said, winking at me. I pulled her legs over my shoulders and positioned myself at her opening.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” She swallowed it smoothly and groaned a deep groan. I grabbed her slim waist and fucked her slow, working it in inch by inch. She moved my hand to her shaft.

“Touch me. Take me,” she said, looking deep into my eyes. I jerked her off and thrust deep into her. Her small tits jiggled with each thrust and I bit her stockinged calf to stifle my grunts. 

“Come here,” she said, pulling me onto her. She grasped my waist between her thighs and flipped us over so she rode on top of me. She leaned back and put her hands on my thighs and did a delicious buck and grind on me that made me tremble. I watched a bead of sweat drip between her breasts and down her flexing belly. She was ready, hard and glorious and the sight of her made me come. I bucked and cried out but she kept going, grinding hard into me until I my hands fell from her waist.

She kissed the side of my mouth. “That sounded lovely, but we’re not done yet,” she said. She got off me, unclipped the strap on, and threw it off the bed.

“Oh, that looks delicious,” she said, running her finger down my come-swollen cleft. I whimpered. She sat up on the headboard and curled her finger at me. Her hardness poked at her belly, dripping precome. “No more teasing. I want in.”

I climbed on top of her, gripping her shoulders with trembling hands. She slid in so easy. I felt the sheen of sweat that rose in her skin at my heat.

“Kiss me,” I said. She slid her tongue in my mouth and I began to move. She gripped my ass, then slapped.

“Don’t you want me?” she said, whispering in my ear.

“Yes,” I said, sucking on her lip.

“Then take me like you want me,” she said. Her voice was a growl, but her eyes begged. I laced my fingers behind her neck and rode her hard, my head thrown back. I felt the band of heat that signaled another orgasm, but I wanted to feel her come. I tightened around her until the grind was maddening and looked into her eyes.

“You gonna come for me?” I slid two fingers into her mouth and she sucked them. Her nails were burning crescents on my ass and she got a far away look in her eyes that made me move faster. I pulled out my fingers and kissed her, riding her until she whimpered and pulled out to squirt on my ass. I rubbed her against my slick crack until she stopped twitching.

* * *

 

“That was brilliant,” she said, nuzzling between my breasts. She glowed.

“You make it easy,” I said. We kissed and touched until the sweat dried from our bodies, then she pulled me into her arms and we lay in silence for a bit, just enjoying each other’s warmth.

“You were admiring my screen earlier,” she said. “You can buy it. For your gallery.”

I sat up. “Never. You said you painted earlier. Do you have any photos?”

She got up and put on her robe. She was a tall slip of a woman, crazy haired and lovely. I stared openly as she looked around her apartment. She pulled some canvases from behind her sofa and her closet and lined them up against her bedroom wall. She pulled off the dusty drop clothes, waving at the dust motes to dissemble from her bashfulness.

I walked from painting to painting, my face relaxed to professional inscrutability. I didn’t mix business and pleasure, as both were very important to me.

I looked silently for so long she went into the kitchen and began to make us dinner.

I sat down indian style in front of one, staring. She banged pots, poured peas into bubbling water and peeled potatoes – I heard the familiar click and slice of the peeler.

Shades of red. Lines of various weights, some rising from the canvas to reflect the light in different directions – some off the canvas but done so captivatingly my eye longed to follow it. What caught the eye most though were the circles in the center, the barest suggestion of vegetal sexuality. I kneaded my brow.

She saw and fumbled a knife to the floor.

“Davina.” My voice was soft. She walked to me, her cheeks flushed.

“Explain this to me,” I said, pointing at it. She stood beside me and hugged her arms close to her.

“I don’t know. My ex girlfriend told me that I was surprisingly lacking in artist talk bullshite. I clear my mind and choose the colors that call to me on a given day and work from the center out. Sort of _feel_ my way.”

“And how long had you been painting when you did this?”

She shrugged. “I’ve done some kind of drawing or painting since I was tiny. Let me-” She dug into some drawers in the living room and handed me a journal. Inside, her surprisingly beautiful script with realistic drawings done in pen. A butterfly. A bee in flight. What must’ve been his childhood home, a townhouse with a sprawling garden. A girl’s face, done with a precise tenderness that reminded me immediately of Ingres.

I remained poker faced as I handed her back the journal.

“My cousin Ernestine.”

“She’s lovely,” I said distractedly. I couldn’t take my eyes off her painting. Something sizzled on the stove and she ran back to tend it.

Shit, I said underneath my breath. Shit shit shit shit.

“When did you paint these?” I asked. I stood up and stretched. My mind was clicking off logistics already.

“Those? Pfft, more than a year ago. I suppose my current position doesn’t lead to inspiration, and paint is expensive.  I still draw, though. That journal’s recent.”

I took a deep breath and wrapped my arms around her waist. “That smells delicious. When’s dinner ready?”

* * *

It’s been three days since I saw her.

She gave me a second wind to deal with the shitty winter and the shitty artist, but I was torn.

She left two messages on my answering machine, both excessively chipper. She knew I was avoiding her, but not why.

I walked around the gallery, looking at the pieces I had gathered in the last several months. I tried to remember the reasons I had picked them. I stared, jaw tight. I lost patience with the artist whose show I was planning. We fought. She threatened to quit and take her art with her. I almost threatened not to care. Almost, but I knew better.

I made some calls back home to several West Coast galleries, and spoke to close friends who knew me well. I needed to hear the opinions of people more knowledgeable than me. Make sense of my feelings.

And with that, I made up my mind.

* * *

“Rosa!” She walked to the edge of the bar just as soon as she saw it was me. I nodded formally at her. Her face dropped.

“Do you have five minutes? I’d like to speak to you,” I said. Her eyes got glassy, but she turned to the other bartender and he nodded. She guided me to an empty booth in the back of the pub and sat down.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she said, taking my hand and pressing her lips to my knuckles. I caressed her cheek. A man in work overalls nursing a beer looked at us with frank curiosity.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but I needed time to think.”

“About what?” Her brow furrowed.

I sighed and pulled something from my bag. An envelope. “I despise being a foregone conclusion, but I don’t think it’s the case this time. I’m sure of it.” I said, tapping the envelope.

She opened it slowly. Inside, there was a registered check. Her eyes widened when she saw the amount.

“For paint, canvases, and your undivided attention, as well as for photographing the works in your apartment for some friends at SFMOMA. If you can generate at least 20 additional works by next March as brilliant as what you already have, there is a possibility you can earn some wall space there.”

“Jesus, you don’t mince words,” she said.

“I don’t consider that a fault,” I said, waiting for her response.

“SFMOMA?”

“Yes. They are doing a show to celebrate moving into a new facility, and they want fresh, young talent. I’ve staked my name on the fact that you are it. By the way - that painting I was looking at - is that for sale?”

She didn’t know how to react. Her lips moved, but nothing came out.

“I want that one for myself. Name your price.”

She fanned herself with the check.

“That’s not from me - that’s from Emotion. Call it a business loan, which you will pay back in less than one painting, I guarantee it. Private collectors in the States are gasping for art like yours, and they’ll pay very well for it.”

She put her hand over her heart. “This is all a bit much.”

“If you don’t want to accept it, you don’t have to,” I said, sliding in beside her and kissing her. “But I hope you do.”

“Why?”

I took her face in my hands. “I love art, with a distracting passion that has ruined relationships. I’ve been all around the world. Italy, Germany, Mexico, Russian, looking for beauty, inspiration, something fresh to capture my imagination... but it’s not as easy as it felt in school. It’s so hard to find things that speak to me on a personal level, something worthy of my passion, as selfish and silly as it sounds.”

“It’s not selfish and silly. Art is visceral. You can’t be told what to love.” She kissed my palm.

“Exactly. That painting, Davina. It’s the reason I chose art instead of genetics. I’d been struggling so I almost forgot.” I said.

She blushed. “Really?”

“I loved it on sight, but I needed time for my hormones to settle to decide whether it was the art or the artist that had seduced me. I decided it’s both, and that it’s okay.”

“On sight, you say?” She laced her fingers through mine.

“Yes,” I said, looking into her eyes, dazzled. “Absolutely.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes: I’m bisexual. 
> 
> How do I put it...like, I’ve been with both. In serious relationships. So, I suppose, I’ve earned my purple and rose stripes. 
> 
> Rosa has her opinions about the LGBT community back home in the States and she has a right to them, like I have a right to mine, and you have a right to yours. This is fanfiction, and I really don’t think it fair to pc police the private bedroom conversations of my fictional characters. If you find something she says offensive or inaccurate in your opinion, that’s art imitating life. It’s a magical thing.


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